


Hand to Hand

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Phil Coulson, Clint is a sassy minx, M/M, Phil has too many morals, Slow Build, Virgin Clint Barton, dirty talking, who's at the door
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2392574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tumblr fic because akafoxxcubb said: if you don’t want something super unnecessary to ruin your evening, do not think about one half of your otp being young and a virgin and blushing so sweetly as they bite their lip trying not to moan too loudly as they secretly touch themselves thinking about the other half of your otp you’re not thinking about this are you wHAT DID I JUST SAY DON’T DO IT lol bye</p><p>And my brain went here: And now I’m thinking of 19 year old Clint Barton, newly recruited into SHIELD. Agent Phil Coulson is his supervising agent and in charge of his training</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Today it’s hand to hand combat and it doesn’t take Clint long to figure out that underneath those well-tailored suits is a highly skilled fighter. Coulson is in a ragged Army Ranger t-shirt and gym shorts and he looks like he’s enjoying himself. They’re in the training gym and Coulson is demonstrating techniques to a crop of newbies. Clint is just one of many but it gives him a little thrill when Coulson waves him in toward the end of the session.

Clint holds his own for all of about thirty seconds before Coulson has him in a submission hold. He’s straddling Clint’s hips and leaning forward to press his bare forearm against Clint’s throat. He’s not pushing hard enough to hurt, just demonstrating technique. Clint can feel the tightly corded muscles of Coulson’s arm where it rests against his neck, the tight clench of his thighs along Clint’s hips.

With the life he led before Shield, Clint never had an opportunity to be this physically close to someone he’s attracted to and he’s trying in vain to concentrate on what Coulson’s saying instead of the warm press of his skin. Coulson is answering questions and showing no signs of moving as he verbally takes them step by step through what it took to get Clint in this position. Coulson is looking at the other trainees and Clint is watching a bead of sweat work its way slowly down his jawline. When it drips, it lands on the little patch of skin on Clint’s bare belly where his t-shirt has ridden up.

It makes Clint’s face flush and his cock go hard enough to strain against his briefs. There’s no way Coulson can’t feel Clint’s erection. Clint bites his lip to stop himself from grinding up, from pressing himself into the cradle of Coulson’s muscular thighs. He’s in the middle of a goddamn crowd in the gym and he is hard and leaking for the man above him.

Coulson glances down at him and then slides back and off. He moves to stand between Clint and the others as he wraps up class. Clint is grateful for the reprieve, glad to be able to get to his feet without the entire gym seeing the state of his erection. He makes a break for the door with the crowd and is almost out when a firm hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him to a stop.

Coulson is looking at him with kind eyes, “Barton, don’t be embarrassed. It happens sometimes. It’s the endorphins.”

Coulson is giving him an out, but Clint can’t stop the words that rush out. “It’s not just the endorphins, sir.” Christ, what is he doing? In no reality does Coulson need to know that Clint has spent untold hours thinking about what it would be like for all of Coulson’s focus to be directed at him.

He sees the surprise on Coulson’s face, the way his eyes go wide and then Clint has wrenched free and is gone.

He barely makes it to his room before he has his shorts pushed down. He leans his back against the door and wraps his hand around himself. He’s thumbing the head, sliding his palm along the shaft. It won’t take long, it never does when he lets himself think about Coulson.

There’s precome dripping from his slit and he uses it to smooth along his dick, moving faster as he remembers how Coulson felt, his smell, the splash of his sweat against Clint’s skin.

He comes with a shudder, a hot splash across his hand. He’s still shuddering through his orgasm, his knees weak as he presses back against the door when somebody knocks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson stepped toward him, his arms coming down on either side of Clint’s shoulders, effectively pinning him to the wall without ever laying a hand on him. “I’m saying that I would be taking advantage of the situation, no matter what I might be feeling and how much I might want to really lay my hands on you. I’m saying that I’m granting you the same respect that Fury afforded me, because we’re all dumb fucks at 19 and what you want today and what you want next week might be two different things."

Clint freezes, breath tight in his chest.  He’ll just ignore it.  He’ll ignore the knock and whoever it is will go away.  Yeah, right.  He knows exactly who it is on the other side of the door, and Coulson is not going to go away.  Coulson is probably only about five seconds away from picking the lock.

“Barton, I need you to open the door.” Coulson’s voice is just as calm as always and Clint hates him a little bit in that moment.

Clint pushes away from the door, he’s a fucking mess.  “I’d really rather not, Sir.”  Understatement.  He strips his t-shirt off and uses it to wipe himself down, trying to clean up the mix of come and sweat before pulling his shorts back up.

“We’re going to have this conversation, Barton.” Coulson’s voice drops, “I’d rather we didn’t have it in the hallway through a door, but it’s going to happen.”

Clint huffs out a little half-laugh, he feels like he’s on the edge of hysteria.  He’d only just gotten settled in at SHIELD and Coulson’s probably going to give him the boot.  He throws the wadded up t-shirt into the corner and debates putting on a clean one.  Fuck it, if Coulson wants to do this now he can damn well take Clint as he finds him.

When he opens the door, Coulson steps inside without waiting to be invited.  His eyes flicker over Clint’s bare chest for the briefest moment before his face settles back into his usual mild-mannered expression.  It’s infuriating.

Clint crosses his arms over his chest and slouches against the wall.  “So talk, Sir.”

Coulson looks at him for a long time, long enough that Clint’s having to fight the urge to fidget.  When he does talk, he doesn’t say anything that makes any sense to Clint.  “I was recruited to SHIELD when I was your age.  Right out of highschool.  It was Fury that sent me to the Army, made sure I made it through Ranger school.  He was my supervising agent, undertook a lot of my training himself.”

He stops talking then, pauses and clears his throat before continuing.  “Nobody had ever taken an interest in me like Fury did.  I thought it meant more than it did.”  He pushes a hand back through his hair.  “I thought I was being subtle about my little crush but one day Fury called me on it.  He was nice, well as nice as he can be, but he left me with no doubt that what I was feeling was one-sided.”  

Coulson had a faraway look in his eyes and Clint felt something in his gut clench.  “It took me a while to get past it, but in time I came to see that he was right.  That was ten years ago and now I can see that  I was mistaking attention for affection.  It would have been easy for Fury to take what I was offering even though it would have meant everything to me and something totally different to him.”  

“So,”  Clint’s throat is tight.  “So, you’re saying this is just a phase, or something.  That I’ve just got a crush and you’re just going to wait for me to get over it.”  He forces himself to meet Coulson’s direct gaze. “Because it wouldn’t be anything other than getting off to you, some kind of pity fuck for poor little Barton.”

“What I’m saying is that it wouldn’t be appropriate.  You’re under my direct supervision and you’re young and your entire worldview has opened up over the last few months.”  Coulson stepped toward him, his arms coming down on either side of Clint’s shoulders, effectively pinning him to the wall without ever laying a hand on him.  “I’m saying that I would be taking advantage of the situation, no matter what I might be feeling and how much I might want to really lay my hands on you. I’m saying that I’m granting you the same respect that Fury afforded me, because we’re all dumb fucks at 19 and what you want today and what you want next week might be two different things.  I’m saying that even though I can still smell how you got yourself off and all I really want to do is see if your come tastes as good as it smells, I’m not going to touch you.”

Clint sags back against the wall as Coulson’s words sink in.  He’s hard again because 19 year olds may be dumb fucks but they also have amazing refractory periods.  Coulson’s just admitted that he wants him and told him that he won’t do anything about it in the course of a couple of minutes and it’s fucking exhausting.  Clint feels like he’s half-way through a roller coaster ride, simultaneously giddy and terrified.  He swallows, his tongue sliding out to wet his lips.  “Sir?”

Coulson’s still got him pinned against the wall, but he draws back just enough to make eye contact.  “Yeah, Barton?”

“I’ll be twenty in a couple of months.”

Coulson nods, but says nothing.

Clint continues, “And a couple of months after that I’ll be done with the first phase of my training.  I  won’t be under your direct supervision then, right?”

Coulson nods again, his mouth drawn up in a little half-smile.  “You’re the last one I’m taking on, Barton.  They’ve been trying to move me to handler status for a while now.”

“So maybe,”  Clint reaches out and tentatively wraps an arm around Coulson’s waist, pulling the other man in even closer.  “Maybe we can finish this conversation then, Sir.”  He can feel Coulson’s erection against his thigh.

Coulson shudders, pushing up against him for a minute before stepping back, out of reach.  “If we both still want to revisit this subject in few months, we can definitely have that conversation.”  He takes a moment, pulling himself together and just like that Clint sees the man that was dirty-talking into his ear a minute ago disappear.  Bad ass Agent Coulson is back, his bland expression masking any and all feelings.

He gives Clint a little nod and heads toward the door, slipping into the hallway without another look.  Clint should feel dismissed but instead he feels invigorated.  Four months seems like a long time.  He knows he’s not going to change his mind.  He’s just going to have to make sure that Coulson doesn’t change his mind either.

Clint’s probably going to need a lot of help with his hand to hand combat skills in the meantime.  He’s sure Coulson can give him excellent one on one instruction.

****  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's throat is dry, he feels like every nerve in his body is connected to the bit of skin under Coulson's hand. “How do I fix it?” He looks up at Coulson through his eyelashes. “Will you teach me?” Teach me, he thinks, teach me everything. Teach me how to touch you so it feels good, how to take everything you can give me. He wants Coulson's hands all over him, those skilled steady hands.
> 
> Coulson's hand tightens down for just a minute and then it falls away as he steps back, taking a deep breath. “I can do that. Reload.”
> 
> Clint's dick is hard in his jeans.

 

Clint turns twenty on a Tuesday. He celebrates by sending an email to Coulson asking for a little extra range time instruction. He's unstoppable with a bow and arrow thanks to his circus years, and he's mastered the rifle, the semis and even the fully automatics but he's still having a little trouble with the 9mm. Which for him means that he's off maybe an eighth of an inch once in every dozen or so rounds fired.

 

Coulson obliges him like he always does and sends back an email agreeing to meet him at the range after dinner, even though Clint knows that his ulterior motives are obvious. After their little talk in his quarters after that first hand to hand session, Clint has needed more and more personal instruction. So far he's had three extra hand to hand combat sessions, and quite a few extra “gee, I just don't understand what this regulation means, Sir, can you explain it to me in more detail” sessions. Coulson has weathered it all with that same little knowing half-smile and very carefully kept their physical contact as professional as possible.

 

Even when Clint does things like lean a little too close and lick his lips and on one memorable occasion manage to pin Coulson down to the practice mat and pretty much rut his erection against Coulson's thigh, Coulson remains cool and calm. Clint feels like he's being humored because he _is_ being humored. Coulson may want him, but Coulson is not going to act on it while Clint is under his supervision.

 

He didn't object when Clint starts stopping by his office a couple of times a week, not even when Clint camps out on the ratty old couch against one wall and studies. Oh, he'll feel Coulson's eyes drift over him every now and then, especially when Clint stretches and his shirt rucks up or his jeans slide down to expose a little bit of skin. But Coulson never really says anything unless it's to comment on whatever subject Clint is studying. He never does anything more than look at Clint consideringly, like he can't quite figure out why Clint hasn't moved on to someone a little more receptive to his amateur advances.

 

It makes Clint crazy.

 

It also makes Clint hard and horny as hell and desperate for something more than his own hand. He feels like he has a constant hard-on these days, and he's pretty sure the guys down in laundry are getting tired of sending up fresh sheets and towels on a daily basis.

 

He knows he could get it easy enough, something more than his own hand on his own dick. There are a couple of other trainees that have made their interest clear. Melinda is a couple of classes ahead of him and looks like she could teach him every thing he'd ever need to know about anything. Mack is in the same class as Clint and is built like a goddamn Greek god, with what seems like acres of brown skin stretched over 6 feet something of muscle. He has been sending gentle smiles Clint's way since the first week.

 

They are not what Clint wants though, even though he'd never pictured himself as a 20 year old virgin.

 

Life in foster care and then with the circus had given him more freedom than most teenagers ever know, but it also meant that he didn't have schoolboy crushes and back seat fumblings at the drive-in. His free time had been spent surviving, honing his skills. If not for the whole mess with Trickshot and Barney, Clint might be there still, performing for middling crowds in every little town along the highway. But someone at SHIELD had noticed him, how he made the impossible shots, and he'd been plucked out of what was a burgeoning life of crime to become one of SHIELD's trainees.

 

Some nights when he's laying alone in his bed he thinks how easy it would be to change his virgin status. He could take May up on one of her offers to stop by her room, maybe go along the next time Mack asked him to hangout after dinner. He thinks maybe Coulson would like him better if Clint knew what the hell he was doing, instead of being some kind of, well, whatever it was that being inexperienced and untouched makes him. What he knows of sex comes from the few porno magazines and movies he's seen and his own fevered imaginings.

 

He doesn't though, he won't try to be with anyone else, not when Coulson is so tantalizingly close but unreachable. Clint will wait him out, he'll wear him down and when he gives it up it will be to the man with the kind blue eyes and the steady hands.

 

The little alarm on his watch goes off and Clint realizes he has to be at the range in twenty minutes. He grabs a quick shower and dresses in a t-shirt that's too small since he started eating right and packing on muscle from workouts. It clings tightly across his shoulders and biceps, the fabric riding up higher than it should on his flat belly. His favorite jeans are low slung and a little loose over his hipbones but snug across his ass. He knows he looks good by the way May arches an eyebrow at him when he passes her in the hall on the way to the range.

 

Coulson is waiting for him down at the far end, leaning against the door that leads to one of the private lanes. There's only one other person, Stillwell or Sitwell maybe, in the whole place. Clint can never remember that guy's name. He nods at Clint without pausing in breaking down his gun and packing it away and Clint realizes that technically range hours ended a few minutes ago. “Tell Coulson I'm locking up. You guys can let yourselves out when you're done.”

 

A little tingle works up his spine. Maybe Clint didn't know it was after range hours, but Coulson did and it says something that he agreed to meet Clint tonight instead of another time when there was less chance of privacy.

 

He smiles at Coulson as he makes his way across the deserted range and bites his bottom lip, the tingle growing stronger when Coulson's eyes linger on his mouth.

 

“Barton,” Coulson says, pushing the door open and letting Clint go ahead of him into the private lane.

 

“Sir.” Clint says, and it's maybe not totally necessary that he press so close to Coulson's warm body when he slides past him into the lane. He carefully sets the case with his service piece and supplies on the little shelf at the head of the lane and turns back to face the other man.

 

Coulson is lingering in the open door and for a minute Clint thinks he's going to call the whole thing off. Coulson's looking at him, his eyes inventorying every inch of Clint's body in a slow sweep from head to toe. After a beat, Coulson steps out of the doorway and pulls the heavy door closed behind him.

 

Clint lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and turns back to his gun case. “Thanks for agreeing to help me. I, uh, can't seem to get the 9mm down.”

 

“No problem.” Coulson says from just over Clint's shoulder. When Clint turns back around, his gun in his hand but carefully pointed at the floor, Coulson is shedding his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. He rolls his shirt sleeves up enough to expose about four inches of lightly tanned forearms. It's nothing Clint hasn't seen before, especially in those hand-to-hand sessions when Coulson wears t-shirts and shorts, but it still causes a nervous little flutter in his stomach. “Let's get our ear protection on and then you can show me what you've got.”

 

Clint does as he's told, settling the protective ear muffs over his ears and waiting for Coulson to do the same. They always remind him of those giant headphones from a decade ago, only bright orange and a little ridiculous looking, but they do the job. He settles into his stance and stretches his arms out ahead of him. Coulson hits a button and the target zooms out to the first checkpoint.

 

He's very aware of Coulson's presence just a foot or two behind him and it takes him a minute to steady himself before he takes aim and shoots. In seconds he's emptied the magazine, spent cartridges pinging against the ground.

 

Coulson hits another button, and the target zooms back in for their examination. Most are dead center in the bullseye, but three are up and to the left. Probably still kill shots, Clint knows, but not perfect. He never misses with an arrow, and he expects no less with a gun.

 

“You tighten up in your stance,” Coulson says. The ear protection muffles everything and he has stepped even closer so Clint can hear him. Coulson reaches out and runs a hand along Clint's left shoulder, settling on the trapezius muscle that links shoulder to neck. “Right here.” Coulson continues, “About every eighth shot, this muscle tenses and your shoulder raises up and goes too tight.” His hand is hot on Clint's skin, burning him through the thin t-shirt, even hotter on the couple of spots where bare skin meets bare skin. “With your bow you need the tension there for the pull, with a gun it's better to keep it relaxed.”

 

Clint's throat is dry, he feels like every nerve in his body is connected to the bit of skin under Coulson's hand. “How do I fix it?” He looks up at Coulson through his eyelashes. “Will you teach me?” _Teach me_ , he thinks, _teach me everything_. _Teach me how to touch you so it feels good, how to take everything you can give me._ He wants Coulson's hands all over him, those skilled steady hands.

 

Coulson's hand tightens down for just a minute and then it falls away as he steps back, taking a deep breath. “I can do that. Reload.”

 

Clint's dick is hard in his jeans.

 

It takes him a minute, but he turns back to his case and does as Coulson asks, changing the empty magazine for one he preloaded. Coulson changes out the target and hits the button to send it back down the lane. Only this time when Clint settles into his shooting stance, Coulson steps up behind him, his arms settling along Clint's as he makes minute adjustments. There's an inch, maybe two, between Clint's back and Coulson's chest and Clint can feel the heat from the other man's body.

 

The ear muffs make everything else seem far away and dulled until Coulson's voice is right up against his ear. “I want you to think of the gun as an extension of your hand just like you do the bow.” Coulson's hand closes over Clint's, his fingers lightly pressing Clint's into position. His other arm is at Clint's waist, resting on the sliver of skin where his jeans have slid down over the top of his right hipbone. “Relax into it,” Coulson says. “I've seen you with your bow, you have to let that natural grace carry over to the gun.”

 

His hand on Clint's waist gently pulls him backwards until Clint's back is flush with Coulson's chest, “Let your knees go soft. Relax into it,” he repeats and Clint thinks this is exactly how Coulson will be in bed. Gentle and sweet but still commanding and authoritative. He can imagine Coulson working him open with his fingers with quiet efficiency, urging him to relax and open up for him. On those lonely nights in his room, Clint has imagined it as he eased his own fingers in his too tight hole but this – Coulson's voice in his ear, his fingers on Clint's body, is so much more.

 

The hand on Clint's hand slides down to his elbow. “Loosen up here, Clint.” He makes another slight adjustment, and Clint knows he's not relaxing, he's not loosening up. His whole body is tension-filled, aware of Coulson's touch, the faint spicy/musky smell of the long-faded aftershave Coulson applied hours ago, the heat from his body.

 

“Trust me.” Coulson says and that works because Clint does trust him, and his taut body suddenly does relax into position. Clint lets himself sink down and back until it feels likes he's barely on his feet, his body drawn like a magnet to Coulson's. Coulson lets out a low chuckle against Clint's neck. “Maybe not that relaxed.” His hand slides down an inch on Clint's hip. “Get into position.”

 

And that opens up a whole other door in Clint's imagination. Coulson spreading him out and positioning him just how he wants him. It would be like this, Clint thinks. Coulson's broad shoulders and firm chest pressed snug against his back. His muscular arms wrapped around Clint to move him just so, where Coulson could just push forward and thrust right into him after working him open. He wants it so bad and he knows Coulson wants it just as bad no matter how cool he plays it.

 

“Fuck it.” Clint says, and he pushes back until his ass is snug against the cradle of Coulson's groin. His whole body relaxed and heavy with whatever this is rushing through his veins.

 

Coulson is hard, his erection obvious through the thin suit pants.

 

Coulson mutters something and for a minute Clint thinks he's going to push him away. Instead he reaches up and plucks the forgotten gun from Clint's grip and carefully sets it on the shelf. The head phones come next, though both pairs go clattering to the floor. Then Coulson's hands anchor down on Clint's hips and pull him back, pull him in even tighter. Clint braces both hands against the shelf in front of him and grinds back and Coulson grinds forward until his cock is thrusting against Clint's ass.

 

It's not enough but it's too much at the same time and when Coulson reaches one hand around to cup Clint's dick, palming him through his jeans and stroking roughly, Clint moans. Shit, he's not going to last. Coulson's lips brush Clint's neck, just the faintest touch and it's the most erotic moment of Clint's life. Soft lips against his neck, rough strokes against his dick.

 

“I'm gonna,” Clint gasps. “I can't.” Hell, he can't even form a full sentence.

 

“Do it.” Coulson whispers, right up against Clint's ear. “Come for me.”

 

Clint does. He comes in his pants with a jerky stutter of his hips. His vision whites out for a moment and it's only Coulson's hands keeping him up as the other man continues to thrust against him. He wants more, Clint thinks. He wants to give Coulson more than this.

 

“Let me,” he says and pulls away just enough to turn to face Coulson before he goes to his knees.

 

Coulson's eyes are dark, his hands clenched into fists like he's fighting not to pull Clint back to him. “You don't have to. We shouldn't.”

 

Clint doesn't answer, just reaches forward and puts shaky hands on Coulson's erection. “Let me suck you. It can be my birthday present.” When Coulson doesn't stop him, he unbuckles the belt and opens his pants.

 

Coulson is breathing hard when Clint pushes his pants and underwear down and Jesus, Clint hadn't thought he'd be quite this big. His cock is heavy and hard in Clint's hand, slick drops of pre-come dripping from the tip. “You don't have to,” Coulson repeats.

 

“I want to,” Clint says. “I've never...and I want it to be you.” He leans forward, letting his tongue snake out to flick along the head. He stops just long enough to look up at Coulson, “I want it all to be you, Sir.” And then he opens his mouth and takes in as much of him as he can. He's never given a blow job before, heck, he's never gotten one before either and he knows he doesn't have any technique to speak for. But, he wants to learn, he wants to figure out all the best ways to make Coulson feel good. He licks and sucks and slides his head forward and back and tries to touch everything he can.

 

Coulson is so big, his dick so thick and long, that it gags Clint more than once. It makes his eyes water when Coulson's dick hits the back of his throat and still all Clint can think is _more more more_. He doesn't stop, pressing his lips against the shaft hard and gliding his tongue around the head when he pulls back and he must be doing something right because one of Coulson's hands is in his hair, the other on his neck and he's holding onto Clint like he's the most precious thing ever.

 

He knows Coulson is fighting the urge to fuck into his mouth, can feel the tiny little jerks that Coulson can't quite stop. Clint leans back on his heels, his hands wrapping around Coulson's dick. “Come on,” he says pulling off just long enough to say it before diving back in with hands and mouth and tongue. Coulson's hand tightens in his hair and then he's coming, filling Clint's mouth so full that Clint can't swallow fast enough, and some of it leaks down his chin.

 

Clint wants it all, he wants every drop. He wants everything this man has to give him. It's only after Coulson has stopped moving and Clint has licked him clean that Clint pulls away.

 

Coulson's hand is still in his hair, stroking, and when he looks down at Clint he has that little half-smile on his face. “I know I should say something about how this should have never happened,” Coulson says and Clint feels his stomach drop, his gaze dropping.

 

“But, I just can't regret it.” Coulson tugs his hair, making Clint meet his eyes. “I can't not have this.” Couslon says. “I can't not have you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, everything I know about guns I learned in a self-defense class and a concealed carry class. I did get some one on one help with my stance and it went a little something like this (well, without the porny bits). It's a very hands on process.


End file.
